


The perils of doing your homework in public

by Shadecat



Series: TVD/TW crossover series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Crossover, First Meetings, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadecat/pseuds/Shadecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-Since when had doing your homework in a coffee house been an invitation to be kidnapped?-</p>
            </blockquote>





	The perils of doing your homework in public

**Author's Note:**

> This was for an 'AU Coffee house' prompt from [Teen Wolf Writing Contest](http://teenwolfwritingcontest.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. I'm likely going to make this pairing a series.

Harris was a douche. Stiles glared down at his chemistry homework, homework that had been given to them all at the very last minute on a Friday. The Friday _before_ his damn birthday. He _knew_ Harris knew that, but the guy seemed to be hell bent on doing everything he could to screw him over. Harris was clearly a douche. If April Fool’s day was All Douche’s Day instead, Harris would be the King of Douches. They could hold a parade and Harris could ride a giant throne covered in douches, tossing out douchey little smirks with his douchey little glasses. He looked down at the answer he’d just written in, scowling when he realized he was _wrong_ , erasing it like it had insulted his mother. Like it had insulted his mom while wearing Harris’ douchey face. 

To make matters worse, he couldn't even study at home. Dad had half the force over doing some kind of file review thing. The house was milling with brown uniforms and bad B.O., along with their fridge currently being empty thanks to their totally unwanted guests. And he couldn't go study with Scott since he was still pining over Allison. He didn't want to have to hear, ‘Do you think she’s thinking about me right now?’ fifty thousand times in an hour. He’d get more studying done where he was; at the cafe. Even with the bustle of people coming and going and the soft buzz of voices and the hissing of the espresso machine, it was still more quiet than home and less distracting than trying to study around a mooning werewolf. 

Sawing away with his eraser, he blew away the remnants of his mistake and scribbled in the real answer, imagining Harris getting mauled by a rabid zombie zebra while he was at it. So intent was he in his mental imagery, he didn't notice the shadow of someone standing behind him. He went on to the next answer, only half thinking about it as he listened to Harris pleading for the zombie zebras not to eat him, only to be attacked from above by a zombie baboon. Apparently Harris had been transported to Africa and there had been some kind of 28 days later virus that got out among the animals of the Serengeti. 

He heard a tutting sound, one that brought him out of his daydream and had him blinking as he looked around - then around and behind him to the looming shadow. The sun was behind the person, glaring in through the window and making Stiles have to lift his hand to save his eyes from being seared by the rays. "Can I _help_ you?" Someone was cranky.

"I think it’s the other way around. That answer’s wrong, you know. You’re going to have to order erasers in bulk if you keep going at this rate." The looming shadow shifted a little to block the sun with his head and Stiles got his first look at the intruder. Oh. _Oh_. It wasn't until he saw a smirk curve the lips of the man looking down at him that he realized he’d been staring. He turned and fumbled with his book, hiding that fact by pretending he’d _obviously_ meant to do that. 

"Is not. Look, see? The answer is _clearly_..." His voice trailed off as he took a second look at the question, then his distractedly scribbled answer. Aw, hell. Scowling yet again, he grabbed his eraser and determinedly rubbed over the wrong answer. 

The body behind him shifted so it was beside the table instead of hovering behind the teen. "If you paid more attention to your work instead of whatever you've got playing around in that head of yours, you might save the world’s rubber population."

"No one _asked_ you, thank you." Stiles was still scowling as he brushed away the little peels of ruined grey rubber. 

The chair across from him was pulled out and the stranger sat down, unasked, setting his coffee on the table in front of him and giving Stiles an assessing look. Stiles pretended not to notice. "Maybe you should try asking some time. Might save you some trouble."

"Maybe I like trouble. Maybe trouble’s my middle name. You ever think about that?" The comment was said with a somewhat surly voice as Stiles took a moment to go over the question again before scribbling in the right answer. He most definitely did _not_ look over at the stranger as though seeking verification. Nope. Not even a little. 

The man snorted a laugh, ice blue eyes rolling as he shook his head. "Maybe trouble _light_. Mini-trouble, but only if you try really hard at it." 

That had Stiles looking up at him directly. "Hey, I could so get in trouble all on my own."

Black brows lifted and were paired with a smirk. "Sure you could."

"I could."

The man across from him gave him a nod, but Stiles didn't think he’d ever seen anyone make one action look so _smug_ and condescending. "Who _are_ you anyway and why are you tormenting me?"

Leaning forward so that his chin rested on his hand, he smiled at Stiles. "The name’s Damon and as for the why, well, because you’re _here_. There doesn't really need to be a better reason than that."

Stiles gripped his pencil, glaring up at the man - Damon. "Maybe I shouldn't be here. Maybe I’ll just go somewhere else." Because _that_ would show him, right? No, wait. That would be running away. This guy was the one that needed to go. "Or maybe you should just go yourself." Way to save some face there, Stiles.

"So many _maybes_ in your world. You should think about going with something a little more definite." Damon sipped his coffee, tongue licking over his lips to chase a stray drop as he set his cup back down. 

Still frowning, Stiles took a moment to look around the cafe, noticing that there were totally some empty tables for Damon to have sat at. That he hadn't meant there was a reason he was sitting with Stiles. What the hell reason could there possibly be for some totally hot-- for some asshole guy who looked like something that stepped out of a sinful dream-- for some _guy_ to come sit and bother a teenager trying to do his homework? "Look, is there some _reason_ you've decided that picking on me makes your coffee taste better?" 

Damon chuckled at that, idly turning his cup on the table. "Not a particular one, no. Maybe I’m just curious about someone with trouble for a middle name’s ability to _get_ in trouble."

"'So many maybes in your world'," he parroted back, a small smirk of his own on his face.

That only made Damon laugh more, blue eyes glinting in the last fading rays of the sun. "You can do a lot with a maybe with the right imagination." 

Maybe Stiles was just imagining it, but there seemed to be something to Damon's look that felt like it was crawling inside him and trying to curl up in the pit of his stomach. It felt both good and more than a little terrifying. "Yeah?" That one word might have come out with a little squeak on the end. Dammit.

Damon’s answer was another smug little twitch of his lips, fingers caressing lightly up and down over the cardboard sides of his cup. Stiles’ eyes were drawn to the motion, homework momentarily forgotten as he watched those pale and slender fingers slide over the cup. He saw an ornate ring on one finger, something blue with a silver decal, but he was more interested in the man’s hands than his jewelry. Wait, _no_. He was _not_ interested in his hands. He was interested in his homework. His douchey pre-birthday homework that he knew Harris would rake him over the coals for not doing. He swore Damon’s next breathy laugh was because of the way he snapped his gaze away from the man’s hands. Hands that were suddenly impeding his vision as he tried to bend back over his homework, hands that tugged his books out of _his_ hands and pulled them over to his side of the table. "Too much studying can do serious damage to your brain. The perma-scowl you’re wearing tells me it’s past time for you to stop." 

Stiles' jaw dropped, his mouth floundering in useless little gapes and stuttered starts of words that didn't manage to find their way towards full vocalization. "Give that _back_!" There, see? He could talk. 

"Nope. I'm doing my part for the younger generation and saving you from brain rot. Come on." He got up, Stiles’ books tucked under his arm, coffee in his other hand as he rose from the chair, getting up and moving towards the door. 

Was-- was some strange guy absconding with his _homework_? Who did that? Apparently this guy did. "Hey!" He got up and followed after him, but only to get his homework back. Honest.

Damon was making his way over to a blue 1969 Chevy Camaro Convertible, the top down and the seats looking dark against the dying blaze of the sun. He tossed the books in the back seat before opening the driver's side door and getting in. Coffee in his left hand, Damon slid the keys into the ignition and started the car, finally looking over at Stiles with an expectant expression. "Well? Get in." 

"I'm not-- I don't even _know_ you. I'm not getting in your car." Stiles had his bag hooked over one shoulder, giving Damon an incredulous look. 

Damon gave him a shrug, starting to slowly pull out of the space he was in. "Suit yourself. Guess I've just acquired myself some chemistry homework to find a dog to feed to."

His next move was out of some preservational instinct, the teen moving quickly forward and jumping over the passenger side door to land slightly askew in the seat. "You can't _steal_ my homework!"

The grin he gave Stiles was purely wicked. "It seems I can. And I get you to boot." His foot pressed down on the gas and he turned the wheel more sharply to get him out from behind the truck in front of him and out onto the road. 

Stiles had a momentary flash of all the 'Missing' posters he saw on his dad’s table and at the office, wondering if he’d wind up lost amid the sea of smiling faces that were never seen again, but when he looked over at Damon, those blue eyes sparked, the mischievous glint mirrored in the smirk that was tossed at him and Stiles could only push those thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing on the shiver of anticipation that slipped up his spine. Stiles was the king of spontaneity and spur of the moment decisions. Right now, this actually sounded way more appealing than his douchey homework, and it _was_ his birthday on Monday. Why _not_ live a little, do something unexpected that didn't have to do with werewolves or lizard men or hunters trying to beat the shit out of him for no reason other than to make a point. Feeling a little reckless, Stiles managed to give Damon a smile back, settling into his seat more comfortably as the car headed down the road, destination unknown to the teen.

***

Stiles blinked and realized Damon was talking to him, _had_ been talking to him for a little while, but the exact content of what he'd been saying was a bit of a blur. In fact, everything after leaving the coffee house was a blur, but he had this feeling in his chest that something insane had happened. Something crazy and unexpected, but something that he'd _really_ liked. There was a nervous hum under his skin, like when he took too much Adderall and was on the verge of some kind of discovery that he’d been trying to find the answer to for hours. Damon's lips twisted into a smirk and Stiles got a taste on his tongue, something that had his eyes flicking down towards those lips and feeling an accompanying twinge low in his stomach. _Very_ low in his stomach. "What?"

"I _said_ 'you're home'." Damon put Stiles' bag on his lap and he could tell by the weight that his books that had been pilfered earlier were in it. He grabbed it out of reflex, looking up at Damon with a somewhat glassy gaze. "That means you should get out."

Stiles looked over and saw that they _were_ in front of his house. A quick look at his watch showed him that it was quarter to midnight. Wait, _what_? What the hell had he been doing for the last six and a half hours? "Right. Out." He shook his head to clear it from the fog, feeling a twinge of pain in his neck. Hand lifting, he went to rub it but stopped when the pain got sharper. His fingers drifted over the spot, finding two wounds there. A brief pause and then he remembered that they were supposed to be there. Right. He couldn't remember exactly _why_ , but it was okay. He could wear his plaid shirts to cover up the marks until they faded. He noted that as he let his fingers trail over them, the flutter in his gut got stronger, his breath catching as a spike of pleasure zipped through him. 

Damon's eyes went from Stiles’ down to watch the fingers playing over the marks, a faint look of satisfaction on his face. Pale blue eyes met honeyed brown ones as he reached over, pushing open the handle of the door for the teen. The feeling in his stomach intensified, reminding him of the few times he’d gotten touchy - even accidentally so with Lydia. Only this was stronger, sharper, like it had a basis instead of just flights of fancy. Stiles took in a quick breath, trying to ignore the way his face felt like it was getting hot, knowing the flush would likely be showing up on his cheeks anyway. He moved to get out of the car, closing the door and standing beside it, still in a bit of a daze but with the feeling that something monumental had happened. Damon’s eyes moved over him like something physical and Stiles felt his cheeks blaze even more. "I’ll be seeing you around." The promise, or threat, was followed by a wink before the man’s hands went to the wheel and the car pulled away from the curb. 

He stood there watching the car drive off, black hair moving in the breeze before car and driver disappeared after a left turn. Bag in hand, he shook off the stupor to turn and head into the house, realizing just how _drained_ he felt, which was weird since he felt so _alive_ as well. His body was thrumming with... _something_ , and Stiles could only wonder about it as he headed quietly into the house and down to his room. Kicking off his shoes, he dumped his bag onto his bed, going over to his mirror to look at his neck. Yep, there they were. Two little red marks. He couldn't remember getting them, just that 'it was okay'. That and that he must have liked it, since every time his fingers went near it, the flutter in his stomach got more intense. Kind of like when he was teasing himself before a solo session. Huh.

His clothes went in the hamper and he wriggled into his pjs, going out to grab a glass of milk to bring back to his room. He looked at his bag with distaste. He _still_ had his homework to do and one day less to do it in. He was supposed to get some actual brosef time with Scott tomorrow, both of them going to the movies and hanging out, just the two of them for his birthday. Nose wrinkling in distaste, he unzipped his bag and pulled his books out to toss onto his desk. His papers were sitting on top, but they looked a little different than when he remembered seeing them. There was _more_ on them. Frowning, he picked them up and went through them, jaw slowly dropping as he saw that everything, _everything_ was done. All his homework had been completely finished _in his own handwriting_.

He dropped the book back onto the desk, mind scrambling to try to figure out how this had happened along with what he'd done that evening. 'He'd had fun' was all that kept coming to him. He’d had fun with a complete stranger who’d kidnapped him from a cafe and had done god knows what with him. He let his mind go blank as he thought back on earlier. He still couldn't get any images or solid information on what he’d done, but he got _feelings_. And the feelings he was getting were good ones. Pleasant ones. Ones he didn't partake of with anyone other than himself. Even more odd was the fact that thinking about the dark haired man with the crystal blue eyes gave him a feeling of anticipation, like there was something _more_ there. Something he wanted...

He'd noticed a smaller piece of paper that had fluttered free when he'd put his papers down. Picking it up, he read it, lips curving up in an unbidden smile. _Happy Birthday_ , it said, written in a hand that was definitely not his own. There was another feeling inside him, though it was a little more in the upper region of his chest and it was warmer. Damon's partings words stayed with him and he found himself wondering, no, _hoping_ they were true. Something in Stiles, a _large_ something in Stiles, very much wanted to see the strange man again, partly to find out what happened that night, but also because of the sensations that went through him when he tried to think about it. Feelings he’d only had towards one person. Feelings that had always been unrequited. Something in the back of his head told him that that might not be the case here, even though his logical mind was scoffing at him for even suggesting it. Damon was an adult. A _hot_ adult. Stiles was just stepping out of being a minor. What the hell could a guy like Damon see in a kid like him?

Finishing his milk off, he moved over to his bed, pulling back the covers and climbing in, turning his lamp off so that his room was swallowed in darkness. He licked his lips as he settled down onto his pillow, eyes closing. A sensory memory of another tongue doing the same flashed through him, paired with a taste that his mind linked with Damon. Trying not to smile at the feelings that evoked, Stiles pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. What would he see in him indeed. He fell asleep quickly, subconscious giving him dreams that were woven with the reality of what he couldn't remember, a reality that if he _could_ remember would likely become a new favorite obsession. 'I'll be seeing you around' echoed in his mind and Stiles wound that around him like a comforting expectation, a soft smile on his face throughout the night.


End file.
